McGee -- TIMOTHY McGee
by shywr1ter
Summary: McGee is wounded, the rest of the team missing and apparently in distress. It's up to a battered Tim and his stalwart probie to find and rescue Team Gibbs. Also appearing: Ned Dorneget. SESA 2013 gift for Hazelmom.


**Disclaimer: **Intellectual property rights are creatures of the law that don't provide for crossed fingers and innocently batted eyelashes. They may, however, be wielded with wisdom by TPTB, who most surely recognize the value of fanfic for free publicity and fanbuzz that it provides. Surely.

**A/N:** Written as a last-minute SESA gift for someone who deserved to have more time spent on it than I had. Her main request: "_I just want my probie to shine. Show off his skills." _I wasn't sure about posting this fic, as it was such a rush job, but I confess to being in the mood to publish something and no time to write.

Comments are always, always appreciated - writing & posting in a vacuum is too much like talking to yourself!

**McGee. _Timothy_ McGee.**

A decidedly uncomfortable Special Agent Ned Dorneget stood by the door of the hospital room as the previously friendly nurse from the main desk stood at the end of the room's only bed and literally _scolded_ his fellow agent, Timothy McGee, who was struggling at the moment to pull on his jeans one-handed.

"Dorneget, a little help here?"

"Agent McGee," the woman didn't budge. "I am required to advise you that as a federal employee, you check out AMA, and any medical treatment necessitated by subsequent exacerbation of your injuries due to your refusal to follow doctor's orders may not be reimbursed by your employer's insurance carrier."

Tim stopped his struggle momentarily, despite his aching, cottony head, his throbbing shoulder, and Dorneget's less-than-helpful efforts, to frown, "required by whom?"

_That_ stopped her, if only for a moment, before she looked at him guiltily. "My conscience." When her patient returned to his efforts to get dressed, she started in on him again. "You certainly aren't the first one to sign out before release, but I promise you that if your doctor thought you were ready to..."

"Ma'am," McGee stopped again, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain and his worry and his need to fight through the muddled buzz in his head to _focus and get moving, _"my teammates are missing and they were working on a case with a very dangerous fugitive who had it out for our boss -"

"The guy who put McGee here, in that bed," Dorneget helped with a nod.

"I've got to find them."

"I understand that you're worried, Agent McGee," the nurse argued, "but you're concussed and medicated, to start with – you can't be driving, let alone tracking someone or handling a gun. And you abuse your shoulder now, you're looking at surgery. I was here when Dr. Fletcher explained all that to you," she lectured.

"I've go to go." Tim muttered stubbornly, gritting his teeth as he pulled his sweater over his head with Ned's help, and struggled into his jacket.

The nurse turned to Dorneget. "Certainly there are other agents..." Getting only a shrug from the younger agent, she looked at Tim again and tried to reason, "they'd understand if someone else did the search."

Tim crossed the small room to pull his backpack off the equally small side table there, but his probie stopped him with a look as he reached for Tim's bag. A bare nod to Dorneget, and McGee turned. "Thank you for your concern, ma'am, and yes, there are other agents – but I'm the _only_ one who has the capability – and the clearance – to find them."

As he passed her to walk out, Ned paused to look at the skeptical woman, and nodded. "He is. At least until Director Vance's plane from the Hague lands in six hours – the _only_ one. _Any_where."

* * *

**_Two weeks earlier_ –**

Another morning, another elevator trip upstairs for Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, who arrived a whole five minutes late in celebration of their previous late night's success in closing a lengthy, convoluted financial case – and in certainty that his boss would not be in the bullpen.

"Morning, _Zeevah_," he chirped. "Where's McMotherboard this morning?"

"Abby's lab." She finished her thought, then looked up from her typing. "Something is afoot."

"Afoot?" His eyebrows hiked up two inches.

"Yes, you know," she gestured vaguely. "He is up to something."

"I know what it means. I'm just surprised you do, given all the basics you've tended to mangle over the years."

She ignored his little dig and fixed him with a teasing look of her own. "Is something _afoot_ with you too, that you are not curious about what Tim is up to?"

"Now that you mention it..." Tony dropped his bag behind his desk, powered up his computer, then left it to come stand at Ziva's desk. "He's been a little jumpy for a couple days now. I asked him about it. First he lied about having nothing going on, but then said he could tell us soon. Maybe _you_ could get him to 'fess up," he grinned.

"Maybe you should just ask him again while he's with Abby. She hates secrets more than you do," Ziva laughed.

As she stood, Tony offered broadly, "all I know is that I'm not too proud to ask for reinforcements." Before they even turned toward the stairs, however, Tony's phone rang. Checking the call screen, Tony briefly registered his surprise at the caller's identity, but immediately popped the screen tab and held the phone to his ear. "McGee – where are you?" He listened for a moment, and frowned slightly. "Okay. What's up?" Another pause, and he added, "okay." Another. "Okay. Be right there." He closed his phone and his frown of concentration cleared to a cheeky grin. "Great minds think alike. He said to come to the lab – and to bring you."

She beamed too. "Like hams to the slaughter."

DiNozzo made a sudden, sour face. "That's so wrong – and definitely not kosher."

She looked relieved. "Then what is it really? I hope it is not more pork..."

Tony sighed dramatically. "You're safe. C'mon, Little Bo Peep, Tim's waiting." As they headed toward the stairs, he tossed over his shoulder, "and which one of us were you planning to slaughter, anyway? Him or us?"

She grinned slyly. "It may depend on what McGee has to say."

* * *

In the lab, Tim tucked away his phone and looked to Abby. "Anything else we need to tell them to convince them to do this?"

"They'll _totally_ get it, McGee – just tell them how much safer you'll all be with this information, and they'll _get_ it." She thought about it, and grinned, "but if you can convince Tony that the most recent studies show an implant heightens sexual response..."

"You're heightening sexual response down here, McGee?" Tony strode in, Ziva at his elbow. "No wonder you've looked jumpy these last few days. Gibbs isn't expected back from Justice for at least an hour – you sure you want an audience?"

Tim glared at DiNozzo, adding Abby to his glare when she smirked at Tony's words. "No ... this won't do anything for your libido, Tony – and if it would, you'd be the last person I'd tell." Hiding his satisfaction at his partner's grunt, a sure sign Tony had been trumped into a very momentary silence, he went on. "We have a project we've been working on, and would like your help with the next phase."

"This is the secret you have been carrying around with you, McGee?" Ziva asked. At his questioning look, she minimized apologetically, "you do not hide your secrets from us all that well. You are getting better, but ..." She shrugged.

"So what is all this about, McCloak-and-Dagger?"

Tim rolled his eyes. "That's lame, Tony, even for you." He was glad that his nervousness for getting his teammates on board with the project at least helped him mask his initial reaction to Tony's McNickname – he might have actually laughed a little at that one, and he'd never hear the end of it.

"You gonna tell us or not?" When Tim's glare continued for only another moment before appearing to relent, DiNozzo pressed, "So what's the big secret, Tim?"

Tim gave them the worst news first. "It _is_ a secret. Even from Gibbs."

"From Gibbs? No way," Tony snorted. "No matter who, no matter how, Boss finds out. He's like a bloodhound. Rumor has it," he leaned in confidentially, "he _is_ part bloodhound..."

"...and I was there when word got around on that, Agent DiNozzo," another voice interrupted. "What makes you think it's a just a rumor?"

"Director." Tony straightened unconsciously, just as he did whenever he was caught by one of the few to whom he answered, but couldn't hide his continuing surprise as he looked at Tim. "So – we're keeping this – _whatever_ this is – from Gibbs, but not from the Director? Not that we would usually _hide_ things from you, Director..." he looked back to Vance and backpedaled quickly as he heard his own words.

"I know, DiNozzo," Vance said dryly, "not at all your team's usual operating procedure."

"Sorry, Sir. But ... keeping things from Gibbs? Good luck with that," Tony shook his head, already distancing himself.

As he watched Tony extract his foot from his mouth, Tim felt another wave of guilt throw cold water on the thrill of his project. He was no more comfortable keeping secrets from the Boss than Tony was. He understood Vance's reasoning, and even agreed that Gibbs was the perfect one to 'test' his devices' run, especially now, if they got Ziva and Tony involved. Abby was surprisingly okay with the idea, secure in her certainty that Gibbs would love her, no matter what. But it still felt wrong, even when it was sanctioned – _ordered_ – by his boss. Their boss. _Gibbs'_ boss.

"Agent DiNozzo, hear McGee out before you jump to conclusions, please. McGee?" Vance prodded. "The floor's all yours."

Tim nodded curtly and turned to his teammates. "Abby and I have been working on something for the past few months and we're ready to take it to the next level. It actually started because of what happened with you, Tony, when you were undercover on the Jeffrey White case."

Tony's face darkened slightly as he remembered the geeky, seemingly inoffensive serial killer. "Could have gone better," he said tightly.

"If Abby had been able to track you more effectively, we could have averted a lot of problems."

"For both of us," Tony muttered. Glancing toward Vance and Ziva, Tony felt compelled to explain, "We wanted to follow the guy we thought was the pushover sidekick to the antiquities he stole. Turns out _he_ was the mad slasher homicidal maniac, not his partner."

"...who figured out how to get the tracker in Tony's shoe disabled almost immediately, and managed to get around everything we'd put in place to keep us on the radar," Abby blurted excitedly, "and do you know how crazy making it is for us here when you guys go off the grid, even when _you_ know everything's fine, if _we_ don't know if you're okay or hurt or..."

"We were talking about that a while back, having some way to have more than just our cell phones to find us in the field. Abby said that you nixed the sub-dermal tracker idea for the White case," McGee resumed, steering them back on course. "But we started talking about the improved technology available and the pros and cons of a implanted transponder coupled with a bio-information recorder ..."

"... and all the recent positive research about the integrity and reliability of the data collected and Timmy's ideas to implement them ..."

"... It so happened that I had started a project way back in undergrad that I thought I could build on. I hadn't really looked into the research since then, but the literature confirms that the health risks and concerns raised in the late nineties have been addressed and there have been vast improvements in available materials ..."

Ziva's eyes had narrowed while Tim and Abby fueled each other's excitement, and, as she remembered, interrupted, "that's right! You have a biomedical engineering degree, McGee..."

"Just wait a minute – " Tony frowned, working back to the present from his memories of his hours with the homicidal White. "What's this 'health risk' thing? 'Cos I have a feeling this history lesson is all leading to your needing us to play guinea pig for you two..."

McGee shook his head reassuringly. "That's what I was saying, Tony – the concerns have been addressed, and both the materials we've used and the signals utilized are even safer than what's in your cell phone."

"What's wrong with my cell phone?" Tony demanded, pulling it out of his pocket to glare at it accusingly. "You tried talking me into a phone like you've got, too, didn't you? You should've said..."

Ziva backhanded his chest. "Nothing is wrong with your phone," she hissed. "Pay attention."

"Tony, Abby and I have been wearing a prototype for the past six weeks as we worked out the bugs. Do you think I'd let her wear something that was dangerous?"

Tony ignored Abby's beam of pleasure at his chivalrous words to side-eye McGee. "I think you might let _me_ wear something dangerous." He thought a moment, then said, "I want the one Abby's been wearing."

McGee opened his mouth to respond to the bait, but shut his mouth again when Vance pointedly cleared his throat. Abby picked up the thread.

"It's _totally_ safe, Tony, and totally cool. McGee's even applied for a couple patents from what he developed over the past few weeks," she beamed proudly. "This is gonna be so awesome for all of you and everyone in jobs like yours when you run out of here into the bad guys' territory..."

"Then why must it be a secret from Gibbs?" Ziva asked.

"He may be okay with you guys getting implanted – but you know he's gonna fight one for himself," Tim reasoned. "Plus, if he doesn't notice anything out of the ordinary for any of us he might be willing to believe that none of the bad guys will suspect we're being tracked."

"... and if anyone would have a nose for anything being off or noticeable, it's Gibbs, " Abby helped.

Ziva frowned. "That makes no sense. Just place it somewhere it would usually not be seen..."

"But I_ want_ it to be to where it would be seen –all the better to convince Gibbs to let us implant one in him, too, if the two of you to spend a week or so around him in addition to the time Abby and I have been wearing one, no ill effects, nothing to telegraph our use of them – we show him there's nothing to it while we hand him a printout of all the data we can obtained."

"No one goes off the radar more than Gibbs," Abby nodded sagely. "We need to keep an eye on him."

"Did anyone stop to think that that's exactly why he might refuse a tracker?" Tony asked. "When Gibbs doesn't want to be found, he _really_ doesn't want to be found."

"Can you not just order Gibbs to accept the implant?" Ziva looked at the Director.

"No," Vance shook his head. " I can't order any of you, either. You're free to decline."

Ziva pursed her lips. "I do not know if it is better or worse that Mossad would be able to order it."

"Hey, maybe your dad could order Gibbs." Tony nudged Ziva, smirking.

"We're hoping that he'll see the value in the ability to track any of us when our usual methods fail," McGee continued his sales pitch. "Like if one of us happens to be with a victim or we find a suspect. Even without a cell phone or a working signal, we can find you – "

"How?" Ziva was in now, Tim could tell. He warmed to his spiel.

"Along with usual GPS tracking we do of civilian signals, the device will be military GPS - capable, and we'll have access to a new code designed to further improve the anti-jamming and secure access of those signals. So, like when your shoe tracker was dunked, Tony – or if you have no phone or turn it off – we can switch to Navy Intel's satellite ..."

"And, once the patent comes through and SecNav releases McGee's device to the other services, to all the military and intelligence service satellites," Vance added.

"Wow, McMarconi." No matter his words, the tone of his voice left no doubt that Tony was clearly impressed – and proud – of his probie. "What else does it do? Does it get all the sports channels?" he teased.

"Oh, Tony, you have no idea..." Abby grinned.

Tony's eyes widened, his grin dropping in surprise. "It really does?"

Tim rolled his. "No..." But he then smiled a little, pleased that even Tony understood that this was an accomplishment. "But it does keep an eye on you, Tony, for any of those scrapes you get into. It will give us a real-time readout of your vitals – heart rate, pulse, breathing, temperature – so if you're in trouble or we need to send an ambulance..." he shrugged.

"What if one wants to be ... off the griddle?" Ziva asked.

Tim frowned and Tony snorted at her. "You're pulling our leg with that one, aren't you?"

"Whose leg?" she snapped, her slight grin giving her away.

"Just like a GPS tracking," Vance said sternly to bring them back to task, noting in the back of his thoughts that Gibbs apparently had more patience than he would have thought. "It's available if we call it up, but not keeping an ongoing surveillance unless we cause it to do so, as we might for a given assignment."

"And use of the intel satellites is limited to those times when we've lost you otherwise or there's a problem capturing the civilian GPS signal," McGee added.

"Really, Ziva – it won't be must different than how or when we track you now, as far as your privacy is concerned," Abby offered.

"Well – except for that whole 'track your pulse and temp and breathing' thing," Tony leered toward Ziva, still looking for a rise from her. "If your pulse and temp just happen to be given a run for their money on your nights off..."

"Agent DiNozzo," Vance interrupted. "Are you willing to wear one of these for Agent McGee's testing purposes?"

DiNozzo's wolfish expression quickly shifted to one of professional concern. "Yes, Director – if it isn't kept secret from Gibbs."

"You understand that I would like his input as to whether or not it's as undetectable as McGee and Ms. Sciuto believe it is?"

"Yes, Sir. But wouldn't it be just as effective to let Gibbs know that some or all of his team are involved in testing Tim's prototype, and that you want him to see if he can decide who has 'em and where they're implanted? Because, Director – and no offense, McGee – I can't sign on if it means lying to Gibbs."

Tim glanced toward Vance, holding his breath – as badly as he'd wanted this project, and wanted to do whatever Vance needed in order to get the most from his work, he dreaded Gibbs' reaction to all the secrecy. He was relieved and unendingly appreciative that Tony was brave enough to broach the subject with their director.

"Director, I've already had to keep secrets from Gibbs on another director's orders, and I won't do that again. McGee's project is important, but trust among team members is more so." He glanced over at McGee again and was relieved to see the same emotion reflected in his partner's eyes. "Believe me, Sir – if your hope is to get Gibbs' best assessment and his agreement to be implanted too, it's better to sign him on when we sign on. Anything else, no matter your intentions, will be seen as an attempt to circumvent the chain of command and to minimize his authority. Not the best way to his good side."

Vance was quiet as he mulled over DiNozzo's words. He was well aware of the fiasco caused by his predecessor's vendetta against the arms dealer she believed killed her father, and her near-ruination of a talented agent and his relationship with his mentor in the process. Vance had worked two-man and three-mans teams before, and knew how important trust was for a team – he'd demanded and gotten Gibbs' cooperation before for 'need to know' operations that had been successful, but had carried Gibbs' strongly worded recommendations both before and after their completion that, unless critical to a mission, leaving their people out of the loop was pointless vanity and potentially dangerous to all involved. Truth be told, although the thought of running an in-house "op" under Gibbs' nose had intrigued him, he knew that DiNozzo was right – and wondered how much he'd let his own occasional pissing contests with Gibbs get in the way.

"Agreed," he said curtly. "David, DiNozzo, if you have any questions for any of us before giving us your decision, now's the time to ask. Either way, I'll notify Agent Gibbs of the project, and as Agent DiNozzo suggested, tell him that 'some or all' of his team have the implants. I would prefer you all use them, but even one of you would give us further input."

Tony pressed his luck even further. "I'd like to be there, too, Sir, whenever you tell Gibbs."

The Director had sensed immediately the relaxation in the room with his pronouncement that he'd let Gibbs in on things, and relented further, "any of you who want to be in the room when I tell him, you're welcome."

Tim blinked in surprise, Abby beamed and DiNozzo murmured a satisfied "thank you, Sir," as Ziva nodded her approval.

"I'm in," Ziva announced.

"Me, too." DiNozzo added quickly.

Vance turned to McGee and appraised his budding inventor. "Think you can get Agent Gibbs to my office as soon as he gets back from Justice?"

"Yes, Sir," Tim nodded, finally grinning his relief at this next phase getting started.

"I'll be waiting." And as the Director turned and began to walk out of the lab, he heard DiNozzo's stage whisper to McGee: "And just think, McGee – if this works out, maybe the Director will go for that jet pack project after all."

* * *

**_Present_**

Despite Tim's signing himself out AMA, the duty nurse demanded that he ride down to the exit in a wheelchair, so Dorneget used the opportunity to bring the agency sedan up to the front door. Between the nurse and the probationary agent, Tim was levered into the passenger seat without too many bumps or jars, and, taking a couple forms from the nurse they'd hastily filled out with his prescriptions and orders, he leaned back into the seat and waited for Ned to get them moving. He pulled out his phone and hit his second speed dial entry.

"Abby..." he began, and they both heard the expected outpouring of worry burst through the small speak. "Abby!" Tim managed, making his head and shoulder pound harder and his stomach lurch in sympathetic queasiness. "Please. First things first. Send me their last locations." He listened to her apology and her confirmation that there was no additional signal from any of the three since they last read the cellular signal some hours before. "Okay. I have nothing new since I last checked, either," he oversimplified what he knew, to avoid Abby's worry – and to avoid her interruptions demanding updates every other minute. "I'll take things from here and send you what I learn." He ended the call, fingers struggling against the powerful painkillers still in his system as he again opened his too-new, highly encrypted system, dreading his team's reliance on the new technology for real, so soon. Not taking his eyes off his screen, he asked Dorneget. "You found out who's available?"

Ned nodded. "Henderson's team was called in, and should be on the road soon. Balboa's was on a call out near St. Charles, but would be clear in about an hour now, if you need them."

Tim nodded. "Okay." He peered at the road ahead, and said, "you need to get onto the expressway and on 270 north."

Ned frowned, not expecting that. "What?"

"Right lane, here – the ramp's ahead. We don't need to be heading 70 miles per hour in the wrong direction."

Dorneget wondered if McGee's head injury was already affecting his thoughts. "But – the Navy Yard is south. We're okay on this highway..."

"We're not going to the Yard." Tim ran the program again, and again found small but disturbing changes from the last time he checked the readings. "When Abby called and said she lost their cell signals, I ran the program and found them just south of Ballenger Creek. That's about an hour from here. We're forty minutes ahead of anyone coming from the Navy Yard, so – we go."

"Agent McGee," Dorneget shook his head, wondering how much trouble he was going to be in if he didn't head right back – and from whom. "That wasn't the deal. Abby said to come get you so you could use MTAC to run whatever that program is you have ..."

McGee tipped his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes, unable to tell if he was dizzier with them open or shut. At least his headache was lessened slightly when he rested his eyes. "I set up my phone for access, too. I hadn't tried it before, but it seems to be working." It occurred to him that he ought to make sure it was, and he called Abby again. "Abbs – I need you to do something for me..."

Ned frowned, but kept driving as ordered as McGee talked Abby through the convoluted security configurations to confirm his access. He didn't know if he could sacrifice himself, his health, as McGee was doing now – as it was widely told that Gibbs' team did for one another – but he held hope that one day, he'd be a part of a team that inspired such dedication to each other.

He also hoped that when they got there, the cavalry wouldn't be far behind, because McGee looked awful and Ned wasn't sure he'd know exactly what to do when they got there.

For that matter, he wasn't sure exactly what lay ahead.

"Agent McGee," he began again, tentatively, once McGee had finished his call. "I know you're in charge, but I think we need to wait for one of the other teams," he said as firmly as he could. "I think a stiff wind could take you out, and from what Agent Gibbs said, former Captain Watson would love a chance to take another swing at you."

McGee chose to ignore Dorneget's concerns again. "What all did Gibbs say about Watson?" he pressed. "Has he learned what's going on or what's behind his showing up at my apartment? Does he know what Watson is after?"

"You and Gibbs," Dorneget shrugged. "We got a report from the officer assigned to his file at Leavenworth, and he had little but bad to say. After his arrest, Watson was pretty sure that the jury would understand why he did what he did, and at least use that as mitigating circumstances, but he didn't think through how things would sound to a jury – and didn't anticipate his wife testifying against him. So he blames her testimony _and_ his sentence, the conviction, and maybe even his own actions by now on you and Gibbs. You, because you were smarter than he was – and that really pissed him off, by the way; apparently no one was supposed to be smarter than he is – and Gibbs for supposedly turning his wife against him and testifying about what a cold-hearted bastard he is.

"Anyway, he lost his commission, his wife and daughter, his freedom. They thought counseling had had some effect, but when he suddenly made bail pending trial, he went off the grid within a week and his first mission apparently was to track each of you down. The rest we have came from Watson himself – he called Gibbs to make his intentions clear."

"He _called?_" That was enough to get McGee's eyes opened and his attention on his driver. "After attacking me..." he filled in.

"He said everything he had was gone, so what time he had left he was going to be spent making you two suffer the way _he_ had."

"Then I'm glad neither Gibbs nor I have a wife or daughter he can run off," Tim wondered at the man's denial, remembering the terror he'd caused both his wife and his blind, eight year old daughter when he had them kidnapped, all for the money he thought was worth it all. "Anything else?"

"Just that the team managed to locate Watson and follow him, but apparently he was counting on that. It was a set up. No sign that anyone else was working with him, but he _did_ enlist help the last time, and we have no sign of how he could get the drop on all three of them. So we can't assume he's alone anymore." The probie looked back over to McGee and urged, "and _we_ can't know what we're walking into. We might be making things worse. If we can just wait..."

Tim shook his head and immediately regretted it. "We can't. Look, Dorneget – _Ned_" Tim tried, "I have no way to know what's happening with Gibbs, but the readings from Tony and Ziva show that they're physically about forty feet away from each other, and both in some sort of physical stress – and although neither have moved from their physical locations _at all _in the last thirty minutes, their readings have moved from one state of stress to another – Ziva's BP and pulse went from high to low in moments, and Tony's have both been higher than normal, but spiking, in spurts. Both of them need someone there, _now._ We can only guess what's happening to Gibbs..." Tim muttered in his concern.

Dorneget frowned toward McGee, unconsciously stepping up his speed with the news. "What do those readings mean?"

McGee shrugged, frustrated that he could only guess, and none of his guesses were good news. "I'd expect any of us moving in on a suspect to have a higher BP and pulse, as adrenaline kicked in. But for Ziva to go from high readings to low – she's got to be unconscious. If she'd gone from high to low faster, I'd think she was knocked out, but a shift over 40 seconds? He's drugged her ..." Tim worried.

"What if ..." Ned started, fully getting now why Tim was so determined to get out to his team. "Could he have injured her, maybe her unconsciousness is from blood loss?"

"I don't think so. I hope not," Tim shifted uncomfortably, looking for a less painful position. "She went from one level directly to another, and her readings are consistent with sleeping or loss of consciousness. Her BP is okay, it's not unhealthy. If she were bleeding out, I don't think it would have stopped falling as it did."

"And Agent DiNozzo?" Dorneget asked carefully.

"He's awake, and..." McGee looked at his phone to see another sudden spike on the screen. "Something is happening with him, his pulse and respirations and BP keep spiking."

Dorneget looked over to Tim quickly, paling slightly. "...torture?"

_Ned was starting to really get it, _Tim observed_._

"I don't know. I hope that maybe it's just a random punch or kick. I don't have enough of a baseline to know how Tony's pain response affects his readings, but ... I think ... if it was really torture, the readings would he higher and ... the extremes would last longer. I don't know," Tim's voice finally cracked in frustration. "I wish I knew, but I just hope it's not more serious than a few punches."

Ned looked over at Tim again to see the agent tip his head back against the headrest of the car, his face pale, perspiration beading his hairline as frustration added to his physical injuries. Dorneget knew he had to step up.

"Agent McGee – look. I may be pretty new to this, but I'm in a lot better shape than you are at the moment. You're not going to be able to move much and with your pain and your concussion, your aim may be off. We've got a guy Dr. Mallard thinks is out for revenge, who either thinks he's invincible, or doesn't give a shit if he dies, or both. We know two of three agents are down, we don't know about the third, and we don't know the set up of where we'll find them all."

When he suddenly stopped, offering nothing more, McGee nearly begged, "damn it, Ned, don't stop now. This is the point where you're supposed to tell me your great plan for saving the day."

Dorneget looked to McGee again, and saw the fear for his team in the older agent's face, the sense of responsibility he had for getting them all out alive. He stalled. "Isn't that your job, as a writer? To make the impossible possible?"

_Impossible,_ Tim's pained thoughts echoed. _Not for Timothy McGregor. Maybe if I could just channel him now..._

"At least we probably have only him to worry about."

Tim blinked, the thought jarring him. "What?"

"Watson. All the evidence so far leans toward him working alone, even though he had help before."

"We don't know that for sure." McGee kicked himself mentally that he'd lost track of his discussion with Dorneget earlier, and asked, head pounding, "_do_ we?"

Ned shook his head. "Agent Gibbs and Dr. Mallard discussed it a while, and I guess nothing Watson said made them suspicious that he'd lined up anyone else for his plan this time. Dr. Mallard even though it would be unlikely, since he's demonstrated such an inflated ego – like he wouldn't admit he needed help."

McGee was relieved that the two people he'd trust the most for such a guess were making the assumption. "Okay," Tim breathed. "Then first things first. When we get there, we need to determine where everyone is, what weapons Watson has, and each one's risk of being hurt if we don't go in right away – or if we do. We have to assume that any of them would have gotten out of there if they could, so ..."

"What if Gibbs did?" Ned asked. "Or what if Tony is hanging around for a change to get to the others?"

Tim shook his head. "Not with those readings," he said grimly. He thought about the Boss. "Gibbs ... maybe. But without any input available from him, we have to assume the worst." He thought for a moment, then decided, "regardless, we have to assess where they are, what the risks are, if they could get out under their own power if we could distract Watson ..."

"...and assume the worst," Dorneget repeated, grimly. "Agent McGee, given how rural it is out here – what if he's watching the road? What if I park out a ways and go in on foot – I can look around, see what I can see, and come back with a report for you? You can save your energy for when you're needed..."

McGee shook his head. "We both go in – we lose time if you have to double back to report. But leaving the car – that's good." He tipped his chin ahead. "In fact ... let's pull over in the next bank of trees there. I don't know that we'll have that much cover on the road again before we get in." As Ned pulled over to park, McGee lifted his weapon, and, awkwardly, ejected the clip one-handed to inspect it, making sure it was full. "I won't be able to reload out there. I'm full now. We can hope that we don't need any." He leaned back again against the headrest once again, knowing he had to pull himself together very soon now. "I have a knife, too, but won't use it unless my gun's gone or out. What did you bring?"

"My service revolver, and a back-up – and a knife," Ned smiled a small but hopeful smile. "I figured it might make Gibbs happy to know that _I_ know."

McGee's lips quirked at the thought, and he nodded approvingly as his phone vibrated with an incoming text from Abby. He tapped in a quick reply and turned to Dorneget. "Henderson's team is about fifteen minutes behind us." He straightened, hoping that his own adrenalin would kick in to help him get things done. "We won't be able to talk much out there, in case Watson would overhear us, so remember – we need to make a fast assessment and decision about removing any threats and addressing any critical injuries. I just asked Abby to notify that ambulance she has standing by that Henderson's close, and to have them follow the team in – just in case." At Ned's nod, McGee said honestly, "I'm glad you're here, Ned – the team and I really need your help with this one."

Dorneget nodded soberly, and with a final look, they both got out of the car. As they did, McGee was struck by how insistent the buzzing was, even way out here in the woods ...

_The buzzing. The woods were __**buzzing.**_

McGee frowned. That just seemed wrong. It was a droning, steady buzz, one that rose and fell and shifted around him ... until the buzz laughed, quietly.

_Wait. ...what?_

McGee turned around to try to locate the source of the buzzing, and realized how dark it was. He'd lost Ned, and wondered if the probie had gone in alone after all.

The buzzing shifted again around him and became clearer. _Voices. Several. Around him..._

* * *

With a sudden start, Tim remembered it all – Watson, _blood_, his teammates' disappearance and his charging to the rescue, the images before him of finding Tony and Ziva and, to his horror, his Boss, most surely dead, given what he saw with his own eyes ... his barreling run into the large, open cabin, taking Watson by surprise and the searing flash of pain and the darkness that swallowed him whole...

His eyes flew open as the images overwhelmed him; he gasped audibly and would have sat bolt upright if he could – but found that he was nearly upright already, his hospital bed raised, the lights low ... and his teammates sitting nearby, chatting softly but comfortably – _not being tortured, not bleeding_ —

_... not waiting in their desperation for him to save them._

His gasp had brought three sets of eyes on him – Tony's, at his left side; Ziva's, on the other; Gibbs', seated across from him. The sight of Gibbs before him brought an immediate, frighteningly real memory of his boss crumpled lifelessly across the floor, grey and unmoving. "Boss," he stared, stunned. "I thought ... I was so afraid you were ... I mean, there was so much blood..."

"Do I _look_ dead, McGee?" Gibbs griped.

"No, but ..." Tim looked to the others, confusion growing. "And Tony ... you ..." The images of Tony swimming in his pounding head weren't much better, still suffering at Watson's hands as they burst in. McGee looked around at each of his teammates, as they watched _him_ in what dawned on him was an almost patronizing amusement. "So ... you're all fine ... and I'm in here because ... all because of _this_..." he realized, gesturing to his shoulder.

"We didn't want you stuck here by yourself without company, McGee," Ziva explained.

_So ... was that it? All the blood, the battering and torture of his teammates – it was all just a hallucination, a medication-induced fantasy? His brave rescue, his riding out to save them, his own health in the balance ... none of it really happened? _

Tim lay back against the pillows, feeling somehow defeated. "Thanks," he managed wanly. His head was still cottony, and he wondered what all he'd missed. _Riding in to save the day – with Dorneget, no less? What a joke. There's a scenario that would never make it past his editor..._ he told himself derisively. He'd never wish a stand-off like that on his team, but ... the memory of the relief he'd felt to find them, the urgency he remembered feeling to neutralize Watson and get his teammates freed ... and the feeling of pride that he and Dorneget would make a difference...

But Tony shifted gingerly, and Tim noticed that he was sitting at the end of his bed. "How's your shoulder feel?" the senior field agent asked.

"Oh. Okay. Dunno," Tim shrugged listlessly. " ... all the meds, I can't really tell. The same, I guess."

"Really?" Tony was clearly surprised. "Hmmh."

Tim frowned. "Why?"

"Well, I'd think post-surgery you'd be a lot more sore at first. Guess they've got you on the good stuff," he grinned.

"But they didn't operate – the doctor said they didn't need to."

Tony snorted. "Yeah, well, that was before."

At the puzzled look on McGee's face, Ziva filled in, "you do not remember that you fell...?" She looked mildly concerned for a moment, then shook it off. "Well, I suppose your head injury is to blame. Some memory loss wouldn't be too surprising."

Tim blinked, even more muddled now. "What..." He blinked, and regrouped. "When did I fall? Where?"

"It wasn't really a _fall_, Ziva," Tony reminded her. "It was more of a shove." He rolled his eyes like there was a lot more than either a fall or a shove involved.

"Did the shove not result in a fall? In _McGee's_ fall?" she demanded. At DiNozzo's long suffering shrug, acquiescing to her point, Ziva nodded to herself slightly in satisfaction.

But Tim just looked from one to the other, his head hurting even more as he tried grasping for memories that eluded him – or those he could trust as being real. Looking to Gibbs again, he nearly begged, "Boss ... you said you're fine?" _His boss had looked lifeless ...yet he was here, apparently as fine as he claimed to be. Just drug-induced hallucinations?_

Gibbs nodded. "Yeah, McGee, I'm fine." He met his agent's searching look without wavering. "Or I will be in a couple days. Thanks to you."

McGee blinked, thrown into uncertainty all over again. "...me?" He watched his Boss carefully. _So what was it? Delusion or memory? _

"You don't remember any of it, McGee?" Gibbs asked, suspecting he knew what was going on in McGee's head.

"Maybe?" he tried. "I didn't just dream it all ... riding out there to find you all ...?"

"With Dorneget? Not a dream, McGee. Maybe an action movie, but not a dream," Tony grinned widely.

"But ..." Tim looked around, "you were all... Tony, you were tied up, and he'd started in on you, on your back." He fought to bring back the horrific images. "He'd given Ziva something and she was out cold. And Boss..." The memories came back faster now, in more detail. "I was afraid you'd bled out..." He paused, shaking off the nightmarish images. "But you're fine now?" He asked again, shaking his head. "I don't know how even _you_ could manage..."

"Look at me, McGee," his boss ordered, his tone carrying – what? A rueful tone? "Have you ever seen me go out in public in a bathrobe before?"

As he looked closer, McGee saw that Gibbs did have on a hospital issue bathrobe over what looked to be scrubs, and was sitting in a wheelchair, leg stretched out before him, with an external fixator on his knee. "But Boss ... it was your head that was bleeding..."

"It was," Tony helped, with a laugh. "You should see the hole they had to make in Boss's carefully maintained hairstyle to stitch that one up."

"Ziva..." Gibbs looked to her.

"My pleasure." She leaned carefully on Tim's bed to deliver Gibbs' head slap – rather gently – for him, and turned to her partner. "You are a hero, McGee, twice over. Your implants worked to lead you to us, and you were able to stop Watson before he hurt any of us more seriously." She patted his knee through the blanket. "Each one of us will heal within a few days, a week at most. Only you have a longer recovery. I am only sorry that you further injured your shoulder."

"But the doc said the repair went well," Tony added helpfully. "It's probably better that you whacked it again – probably in the long run, you would have needed surgical repair eventually, and now you've gotten it all done up front."

Tim leaned back again, an odd relief flooding through him. His memories _were_ memories, not hallucinations, and he'd been able to rescue his team.

_With help_, he remembered guiltily. "Dorneget!" he gasped, unable to call up any memory of what happened to him. "Is he okay?"

"He's fine, McWorrywart," Tony nodded. "He's out picking up some food."

"But..." It didn't seem right, to make the guy schlep burgers after his help.

"Probie job,Probie," Tony said, a surprising hint of gentleness in his voice, then added with a grin, "It's okay. We're paying for his dinner as our thanks. Yours too," he beamed.

Tim looked at his team and relaxed a bit, eyes getting heavy. "You get something good?" he grinned, and laughed out loud when Tony defended the pizza being delivered.

Finally, he'd been able to do what he'd always dreamed of doing, contributing both his technical know-how and his skills in the field, and they'd all escaped with their lives intact. He realized he hadn't yet heard about Watson, how things ended up for him, but that could come later. His team was safe, and he could stand down. He might have desk duty for a while, but that was okay ... he just might have a few more inventions up his sleeve, and he'd put that desk duty time to good use...

**End**


End file.
